Cornwall's Kids
by AnneMary
Summary: What? Cornwall doesn't have kids... does he? He does now! Meet the South Australian regions Mid-North and Copper Coast! Set loosely at a school for counties, states, and regions, follow Cornwall as he gets to know the kids he never knew he had. Appearances from Adelaide, Devon, Wales, other Celtic nations and diaspora, and other parts of Australia you never knew existed...
1. Cornwall has Kids?

**This is loosely based on the idea – fairly common among Hetalia fanfictions – of a school for states, counties, and other regions. I've read a couple of those, and started thinking about how the more obscure regions might interact, particularly those around where I live, including the areas in to the north of Adelaide, which seem to idolise Cornwall and all things Cornish, but which – to my knowledge – have little to no actual contact with Cornwall.**

 **I don't own Hetalia or any of the lands or regions depicted. I don't even own any land full stop! Any resemblance to real persons is coincidental. Any resemblance to real places is strictly intentional.**

"Kernow!"

"Kernow!"

Devon looked on in amusement as two small blurs ran up to wrap their arms over his more westerly twin. "You have admirers, Cornwall."

"Ugh, gettoff," Cornwall muttered, trying to detach the two. "Who are you?"

"Boss 'm Kernow Bichan!" the first, a little girl in a floral dress, white pinnie, and a crown of flowers on her head of messy blonde curls, beamed at him.

"Boss 'm Map Kernow!" the second, a swarthy lad in trousers, a sturdy jacket with rolled-up sleeves, and a flat-cap, his face liberally smeared with dust, added happily.

Devon's smile turned to laughter. "You have children, Cornwall?" he asked breathlessly.

"No!" Cornwall exclaimed. "Um... I don't know. Maybe?"

"Mid-North! Copper Coast! What did I tell you about running off?"

The two teen-looking lads turned around at the shout, spoken in an accent that didn't seem quite Australian, and saw a teenage girl dressed in what seemed very much to be hippy attire, paint-splashes on her clothes. She was trailed by another a small group of similar-looking youngsters, as well as a teen Aboriginal boy.

"Look, it's Kernow!" the little girl beamed, running over to grab the older girl's hand.

"Yeah, we found Kernow," the boy echoed.

"You're Cornwall?" the older girl asked in surprise. "Who's he?"

"I'm Devon," Devon held out is hand. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Adelaide," the older girl shook his hand firmly. "Sorry about the pastoral regions. We won't bother you again."

"But, _Ad_ -lay," Kernow Bichan – or was it Mid-North? Or Copper Coast? – whined. "It's Kernow!"

"Yes, yes, you can bother your father later," Adelaide told her. "Come _on_. Sydney's running out of patience with us. Perth is beginning to talk about succession again. See you later, Cornwall. Devon."

With that, she led the entourage away.

Devon turned to his brother. "What just happened?" he asked.

" **Kernow Bichan" is the Copper Coast, probably the whole Yorke Peninsula and possibly the Eyre Peninsula as well. The Copper Coast is pretty much the centre of Cornish culture in Australia and has the largest Cornish festival in the world, Kernowek Lowender. Kernow Bichan's appearance comes from the maypole and furry dancers (local schoolgirls) and their costumes during Kernowek Lowender.**

" **Map Kernow" is the Mid-North Region, which includes major Cornish/copper districts such as Kapunda and Burra. Kapunda is perhaps best known for its seven-metre stature of a Cornish miner, called the "Map Kernow (Son of Cornwall) Statue".**


	2. Asking Advice from Wales

**I don't own any of these places. Not Wales, not Cornwall, not Copper Coast, and mostly not Mid-North. Oh, and not Gladfa. Just a little bit of Adelaide.**

"Uncle Wales, can I ask you about something?"

Wales looked up at the shy young county at the door to his office, recognising the boy immediately. With his blonde hair and green eyes, he was clearly one of England's, but he'd always had a closer bond to Cornwall than to most of England's other counties, and considered him a younger brother. Well, he _was_ young, compared to Wales; only about 1300 years old, in this incarnation.

"You know you can always come to me for advice," he told the lad now, gesturing him to a chair.

On the rare occasions the blonde county could be seen separated from his omni-present twin, Devon, it was always something to do with his Celtic roots, and it was almost always to spend time with Wales. For the last few hundred years, Cornwall had looked up to Wales for advice on all such matters, particularly to do with the language.

"I've heard your nursery is going well," Wales observed after a moment. "Rhisiart Tal-e-bot likes to keep me updated."

Cornwall nodded. The Cornish-language nursery had been set up only a few years ago with a lot of help from Wales, and the main teacher there was a Welshman who had learnt Cornwall's language. They were both very pleased with the results. For the first time in about a hundred years, there were children who spoke his language.

"I think I'm a father," he blurted out suddenly.

Wales raised an eyebrow. "You think you're a father?"

"They say they're my children," Cornwall explained. "Adelaide said they're my children."

The eyebrow crept back up again. "'Adelaide'?" Wales enquired.

"Um... South Australia," Cornwall replied. "I think she's their mother. I don't know. They call themselves 'Map Kernow' and 'Kernow Bichan'. They _look_ like me."

"Where are they?" Wales wanted to know. "I haven't heard of them."

"South Australia," Cornwall shrugged helplessly. " _She_ called them 'Mid-North' and 'Copper Coast'. I'm not sure which is which. What do I do, Wales? I mean, you know what to do, right? You've got Gladfa!"

"I don't think that's really a fair comparison," Wales replied. "I've always known about Gladfa. In the early days, I raised her more than Argentina ever did. And I don't think Spain even noticed her existence."

Cornwall made a face. Ever since Spain's Armada had destroyed Mousehole and burnt Penzance back in the 16th century, he hadn't thought much of the flamboyantly-dressed nation. He had slightly more tolerance for Galicia, but not much.

"I think your father might be a better person to talk to," Wales added, "After all, he has lots of children he didn't really know about. You remember when he met Pitcairn, in the 1840s, I think."

Cornwall shook his head. He'd been a bit too distracted in the 1840s by thousands of his people leaving for the gold and copper mines in... Australia. His mouth popped open. " _Oh_."

Wales gave him an odd look. "What?"

"I just realised something," Cornwall explained. "I think I know who these kids are. Lowen warnass!"

Wales just shook his head, watching the younger Celt leave.

 **Google "Skol Veythrin Karenza" for more information on the Cornish-language nursery. It really was started by a Welsh teacher (and a group of interested parents).**

" **Gladfa" – or Y Wladfa – is the "Welsh Colony", along the Chubut Valley in Argentina. For a fascinating documentary on the topic, watch the Youtube extension 5x7B9AIgyjs, "Patagonia with Huw Edwards".**

" **Lowen warnass" – "goodbye" (in Cornish) (I think...)**

 **If anyone actually speaks Cornish, please feel free to correct just about anything I say that's trying to pass as Cornish. The same goes for Welsh, if I ever use it. And Irish! My basic method for all of these is to use any translation device and bend the language to fit Gaelic grammar rules if in doubt.**


	3. Introducing the Kids to the West Country

**Still don't own any of these regions. Not even little bits of them! Although I think I've** _ **been**_ **to all of them. Except Prussia.**

"Hi, dad!"

"Hi, dad!"

Cornwall sighed, but fixed a smile on his face as the two children accosted him. At least he was expecting it this time. "Mittin da," he told them, "Ped moss gannoch?"

"Fine, thanks, yourself?" the boy replied, all in one word.

"I'm fine," Cornwall told them. "Where's your mother?"

The boy shrugged, and the girl leant towards him conspiratorially. "Flirting with Italy. _Again_."

"Your mother flirts with _Italy_?" Cornwall demanded, feeling irrationally jealous and protective.

"Yeah," the boy crossed his arms. "I liked it better when she had that thing with Prussia."

"Yeah, but Prussia never noticed her," the girl pointed out. "Italy notices her."

"I don't like it," the boy concluded.

"Well, shouldn't you be in lessons?" Cornwall wanted to know.

"It's lunch-time," the girl replied. "Can we eat with you, daddy? _Please_?"

"I suppose so," Cornwall nodded. "Come on." He led them over to where Devon was sitting with Dorset, Somerset, Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, and Bristol.

"Who be these?" Somerset wanted to know, shifting over to allowed room at the table.

Devon sniggered deviously. "They're Cornwall's children."

"You have children?" Dorset asked in surprise, as she smiled at the two.

"Apparently," Cornwall agreed. "Do you two have anything to eat?" He knew that countries – or regions, or counties, or whatever they were – didn't really need to eat, but he supposed he had to do _something_ fatherly, anyway.

"Boss food thin," the boy told him, cracking open a small round bucket-like tin he'd produced from somewhere about his person.

"Boss tiddy-oggies thin!" the girl beamed, pulling a wrapped white cloth from the top of the can. She unwrapped it on the table to reveal a pasty.

"They're definitely yours," Wiltshire grinned. "I don't know anyone else who eats pasties."

"I eat pasties!" Devon protested. "That's a Devon pasty, that is!"

Cornwall peered at it, as the girl picked the pastry up in her hand to eat. She held it by the ridge, which ran along the top. "That _is_ a Devon pasty," he admitted finally.

"What are your names?" Dorset asked the two children, leaning towards them with a smile.

"He's Cousin Jack," the girl replied, waving her pasty in the general direction of the boy and almost hitting him on his grubby nose.

"She's Cousin Jenny," the boy added, pulling her hair.

"Nice one," Cornwall told them. "Try again."

The girl rolled her eyes. "They're our _human_ names, dad." She looked back at Dorset. "I'm Kernow Bichan. 'Little Cornwall'. Ah, or Copper Coast. _I_ prefer Kernow Bichan."

"Yeah, because it gets in the tourists," the boy made a face at her, and held out a grubby left hand to Dorset (his right hand was still holding the ridge of his pasty). "I'm Map Kernow. I'm _actually_ Map Kernow," he added to his sister. "There's a statue! Of me!"

"Yes, but every second year..." Jenny began.

"You monopolise the region's tourism..." Jack cut in.

"... They all dress up as me!" Jenny exclaimed. "Does anyone ever dress up as you?"

"No, but there's a statue!" Jack repeated. "Seven metres tall! Of _me_!"

" **South Australia's thing with Prussia" – South Australia has a not insignificant German heritage. In fact, in my headcharacters, two of South Australia's children, Adelaide Hills and Barossa Valley, are also Prussia's children. They're major German-speaking areas and most of the original immigrants were from Prussia. Colin Thiele (who wrote "Storm Boy") is from the Barossa and says he didn't learn English until he started school – he spoke Barossadeutsch at home.**

" **South Australia's thing with Italy" – Quite oddly, South Australians and Western Australians can get in half-price to Italian tourist sites. I'm of the opinion that this means I should have got in free (half-price for being a European child and half-price for being South Australian), but it seems like a fun sort-of-pairing for the Hetalia characters!**

" **Boss... thin" – Cornish for "we have", literally "there is... to us". I don't know if that's proper Cornish or not; my version of Cornish is basically "look up words on an online dictionary and bend them into Gaelic grammar".**

" **Tiddy-oggies" are Cornish pasties – that's what my grandmother, who comes from Burra (part of the region personified by Map Kernow) called them.**

 **According to people from Devon, pasties from Devon have the ridge along the top and from Cornwall along the side. Here in South Australia, pasties from the "copper triangle" (Kapunda, Burra, and Moonta-Kadina-Wallaroo) tend to have the ridge along the top, and pasties from the rest of the state along the side. Go figure, but thus ridge-on-the-top pasties are generally recognised here as being "Cornish pasties", as opposed to just "pasties".**

 **Cousins Jack and Jenny are sort of stereotypical Cornish miner characters. When the Map Kernow statute was built, a lot of people were surprised it wasn't called "Cousin Jack".**


	4. Celtic Counties Lunch-Time Elective

**I don't own Hetalia or any parts of the Celtic Countries or the Celtic diaspora (except my own genes, which are made up of a confusing combination of Scottish, Cornish, and Irish diaspora). I don't own any part of the Irish national anthem or Ròs na Rùn. I do, however, own substantial confusion over the fact that Edinburgh (Scotland) and Dunedin (New Zealand) have** _ **exactly**_ **the same name in Gaelic.**

"Hello and welcome to the First Weekly Meeting of the Celtic Counties... ah, lunch-time elective. Now..."

"Bruidhnibh Gàidhlig, a Bhaile Àtha Cliath!"

Dublin paused for a moment to glare at the other redheaded city. "Shut up, Glasgow."

"He's right, you know, Dublin," a third voice pointed out. Cardiff was a dark auburn hidden behind a trenchcoat, a bowtie, a fez and a t-shirt with a red dragon bearing a sonic screwdriver. "If we're meant to be Celtic..."

Dublin sighed. What little control he'd had over this meeting was quickly disintegrating. Even his own siblings had apparently deserted him. Donegal had his head bent together with Eilean Siar, Highlands, Ellan Vannin, and a couple of others in one corner, giggling away in that silly soft dialect they all seemed to share, and Galway had a large number of his other siblings gathered together watching Rós na Rún re-runs on his iPad.

Wales didn't seem to be doing much better. The Heartland areas were gathered together, talking away in Welsh – which Dublin couldn't understand to save himself – leaving Powys to field off a clingy Frenchwoman – Brittany. With all those town twinnings, she must have thought she had a claim on Wales. And of course, the South Wales areas were clustered together, chattering, too, although it seemed that Cardiff's voice was pitched the highest among that lot, bragging about Doctor Who. Nothing unusual there. What was unusual, however, was the shy figure hovering at the edge of the Heartlands crowd, the Argentinian flag proudly emblazoned on her shirt. What was she called, again? Y Wladfa?

Not much of Scotland was there, just Highlands, Eilean Siar, Glasgow, Argyle, and a distracted-looking Edinburgh. Orkney had wandered in by mistake and quickly left. Who _was_ that other girl with Donegal? She looked almost like America... And then there was that other boy, the one who also claimed to be Edinburgh. Well, he'd introduced himself was "Dùn Èideann", but that was the same thing, really.

Finally, there were the two English twins, Cornwall and Devon, desperately trying to garner Brittany's attention from Powys. Dublin had to admit the French girl was quite beautiful, with her elaborately coiffed lace... whatever-it-was, perched on her head like a bird about to take flight. Cornwall's case seemed to be helped slightly by the two small children clinging to his waist. Teenage girls were suckers for small children, and one was a cute little girl with flowers in her blonde curls. Who _were_ those kids?

"Okay, everyone, shut up!" Dublin exclaimed suddenly. "This is meant to be serious! Sinn fianna fail, atá faoi gheall ag Éirinn...!"

That his siblings' attention, anyway, which resulted at least in the cessation of the Rós na Rún re-run and silence from most of Scotland, too.

"Okay!" Dublin beamed. "Let's go. Edinburgh has the chair. Who else is here, anyway?"

 **Bruidhnibh Gàidhlig, a Bhaile Àtha Cliath! – (brine-yev gar-lick, uh vulla aah kleea!) – (Gaelic) Speak Gaelic, Dublin!**

 **Donegal Irish is much closer to Scottish Gaelic than any other Irish dialect, but it's considered a bit "soft" by speakers of other dialects. Des Bishop described hearing Donegal Irish as "like be petted gently".**

 **Eilean Siar is "Western Isles" (the Outer Hebrides). About 70% of the Western Isles still speak Gaelic as the first language today.**

 **Ellan Vannin is the Isle of Mann, Nova Scotia (or more properly, Cape Breton) is the Gaelic-speaking heartland of Canada, and Y Wladfa is "The Colony", the Welsh-speaking Chubut province of Argentina mentioned in the second chapter.**

 **Dùn Èideann – "Edinburgh", but also "Dunedin", a city on the South Island which spoke Gaelic up until the 30s.**

 **Google "Breton Coiffe" – you'll see what I mean. Brittany is one of the six Celtic nations accepted by the Celtic Congress – along with Scotland, Mann, Ireland, Wales, and Cornwall – and the only one on the European mainland. They speak a Brythonic/ P-Celtic language, very closely related to Cornish (Cornish is probably a dialect of Breton).**

" **Rós na Rún" is a popular Irish-language soap opera produced in Galway by TG4. "Sinn fianna fail..." is Ireland's national anthem.**


	5. Is Cornwall Being Kidnapped?

**I don't own Hetalia, Cornwall, Adelaide, Copper Coast, Mid-North, QANTAS, or Kernewek Lowender. I recognise that the place I am writing from is the traditional land of the Peramangk people, and I wish I could say that the language and traditions are just as important to the living Peramangk today as they were in the past... except there are no living Peramangk left. I don't take responsibility for that, though. I didn't have any ancestors in Australia that far back.**

"Daddy, come with us!"

"Yes, Daddy, come with us!"

This parenthood thing was turning out harder than Cornwall had first imagined, and he was beginning to understand why his own father had done such a poor job at it. He could never be sure when he was going to turn around and be accosted by two small blonde figures, clinging to him and trying to drag him one place or another.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked them, as each took a hand and tugged him away and towards the hangar deck.

"Kernow Bichan," the floral-printed region of the same name giggled happily.

"Kernewek Lowender," her brother added, with an expression that might have been either a pained grimace or an excited grin. Or both.

"'Cornish happiness'?" Cornwall repeated, confused, as he was herded into a small red-and-white aeroplane. "Wait! Has the League of Nations allowed us to leave the school? We're not meant to, you know."

"Relax! It's fine." Adelaide was already waiting for them in the cockpit of the tiny aircraft. "We're allowed to leave to be on our land for important cultural events. It's about time _you_ bothered showing up for a Kernewek Lowender."

"What _is_ Kernewek Lowender?" Cornwall wanted to know.

"It's a party," Map Kernow nodded sagely, pushing his miner's hat out of his eyes. "A _big_ party."

"Full of people dressed like _me_!" Kernow Bichan interjected with a pleased grin.

"You know how much Adda-lay likes parties," Map Kernow added.

"You like parties?" Cornwall asked of the city/state in the driver's seat.

"Well, I'm not called 'the festival state' for nothing," Adelaide replied. "I'm also Australia's Capital of Culture, as well."

It didn't take them as long as Cornwall thought it might to reach Australia's gigantic landmass, and he had to admit the two youngest regions probably travelled better than _he_ did, keeping themselves entertained somehow on the trip. But time moved differently for personified lands than for humans, and before long that they were landing on a dustpan marked at one end by a small beige hut reading 'Copper Triangle Aerodrome'.

"Ah, home!" Kernow Bichan grinned, turning her face up to the sun as they exited the aeroplane. It was probably twenty-five or thirty degrees, which to Cornwall felt absolutely scorching. "Come on!" she grabbed his hand and skipped off towards the road.

"Slow down a second there!" Adelaide exclaimed, reaching to keep her in check. "I am _not_ walking all the way into Moonta."

"We're driving," Map Kernow nodded, clambering into the lone ute parked behind the beige shed.

"We're going to visit Uncle first," Kernow Bichan announced, unusually solemnly, as she sat beside her brother. Then she broke into her typical grin. "Then we can go to Moonta and see all the people dressed as _me_!"

"Are you sure they can drive?" Cornwall asked Adelaide nervously, as he crammed in beside her and the door in the tiny cab.

Adelaide just shrugged. "Yeah." Then, seeing he was still unsure, she added, "They're countries, Cornwall. Besides, up here, kids that look their age can usually drive. Maybe not on public roads, but they _can_ drive."

It didn't seem too bad, and before long, they were pulling up outside a lone white plasterboard hut.

"This is where I live," Kernow Bichan announced, before bounding inside. "Hi, Uncle! I'm back!"

The house was inhabited by an elderly nation, almost frail-looking, with dark skin and wispy white hair, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Kernow Bichan paid no attention to his frailty and gave him a firm hug.

"You back now for good, girl?" the country – Uncle? – asked, in what seemed like a pretty good West Country accent.

"Just visiting," Kernow Bichan told him.

"For that big-fella corroborra, unna?" Uncle asked her.

"Yeah," Kernow Bichan nodded, and then she turned, introducing the man. "Grandfather, this is my dad, Cornwall. Daddy, this is Uncle Narungga. This is _his_ country."

 **No flames from Melbournites, please. We've all be called the Capital of Culture at one time or another, but Adelaide has a pretty good claim to the title, since we host things like the National Wine and Cheese Festival, the Fringe, and so on. Not to mention we're home to the National Wine Centre (you can't tell we're a wine-producing region, can you?) and the only pandas in the southern hemisphere (not that that has any bearing on anything).**

 **South Australian car number plates say "the festival state".**

 **I based Kernow Bichan's appearance, back in the first chapter, on the costumes worn by the furry dancers and maypole dancers at Kernewek Lowender. Since then, these characters seem to have taken on a life of their own, and she's convinced they're all dressing as her.**

 **According to certain linguists, the Narungga people speak English with a Cornish accent, because they were taught the language by Cornish miners. I'm sure this might have been the case fifty or eighty years ago, but they just sound South Australian now, except maybe for a few elders (a lot of white locals over the age of about sixty in that area still have Cornish-sounding accents, rather than Australian-sounding ones). Nevertheless, old Uncle Narungga has a West Country accent.**

" **Grandfather" and "uncle" are both terms for elders, even if unrelated – "grandfather" carries a little more respect but both are respectful. "Unna" is basically equivalent to "innit" you get in some English dialects. "Fella" is just... sort of an intensifier sort of thing. I'm not sure what it does. The Wikipedia article on "Australian Aboriginal English" makes a fairly decent attempt at explaining it.**


	6. Cornish Happiness with Kernow Bichan

**I don't own Cornwall, Adelaide, the Copper Coast, the Mid-North, furry dancing, maypole dancing, Goyder's line, or Kernewek Lowender. I do have the ability to make a decent tiddy-oggie out of whatever meat and vegetables are about, as well as an extremely outdated tour brochure for the Yorke Peninsula. Oh, and I don't have the ability to make Swanky beer which doesn't explode sometime during the fermentation process.**

After spending some time with the elderly Uncle Narungga, the four young white personifications squeezed back into the ute and headed off towards – Adelaide assured Cornwall – the town. It was, and as they neared the town, cars and people began thronging thickly.

"Welcome to Moonta!" a sign proclaimed. "Kernewek Lowender!" another added.

"We've got to walk the rest of the way," Adelaide sighed, pulling in to park on some sort of playing field. They were flanked by camera-wielding tourists as they made their way to the main street.

"Maypoles?" Cornwall asked, recognising the tall beams with ribbons flowing loosely from them which dotted the high street at regular intervals.

"That's later," Kernow Bichan informed him, spinning around and grinning as the crowds began to clear and music started from somewhere. "The furry dance is coming!"

"You have furry dances here?" Cornwall asked, delighted. He'd thought Helston was the only place that still had furry dances.

"Only every second year," Map Kernow replied.

"Shut up!" Kernow Bichan exclaimed. "They're coming!"

They were, too, girls dressed exactly like Kernow Bichan, with floral dressed, white pinnies, their hair loose with flower crowns, and boys in clothes such as Cornwall hadn't seen for about a hundred years, flowers tucked into their buttonholes. The strains of music were familiar, as the children skipped and twirled down the road.

After furry dancing for a bit, each of the children found their way to a maypole, grabbing a ribbon. Scales ran up and down as they danced in and out, and then another tune – one Cornwall didn't recognise – started, and the children began weaving in and out of each other, skipping around the circle.

"You know this is a fertility ritual, right?" Cornwall asked Adelaide in an undertone.

She glared at him. "Shut up. The kids think it's fun. Look at the pretty patterns."

Cornwall had to admit there were pretty patterns. Each pole was equipped with multicoloured ribbons, resulting in complex woven patterns pulling tight around the top of the pole, coming down to the height of the children's heads. He still didn't recognise the tune.

Kernow Bichan looked up at him, tilting her head so far back her flowers almost fell off. "Fertility rituals are important, daddy. We've above Goyder's line here."

"That's true," Map Kernow agreed. "If dancing around a pole is just wishful thinking, it might bring rain."

"What's Goyder's line?" Cornwall asked Adelaide, as the two younger regions turned their attention back to the dancers.

"An imaginary line across South Australia," Adelaide explained, "Based on rainfall. It doesn't rain much north of Goyder's line."

The dancing had finished, and the crowds began to disperse. "What now?" Cornwall asked.

"I say the tiddy-oggy competition," Map Kernow announced.

"That's not until later," Kernow Bichan replied. "Let's go to the mines!"

"Okay!" Map Kernow agreed readily. "I like mines."

"Of course you do," Kernow Bichan rolled her eyes.

"Even if yours are open-cut," Map Kernow added. "They're not really _proper_ mines, you know."

"My malachite is close to the surface," Kernow Bichan told him. "You're invert and retentive."

Map Kernow just stuck his tongue out at her.

"I need a beer," Adelaide sighed. "Where can you find Swanky around here?"


	7. The Sun Is Too Close Here

**I don't own Hetalia or any of the food or places mentioned in this chapter, although I have** _ **been**_ **to all of the places. Including the Eden Project, in Cornwall, which is to be henceforth referred to as the "odd bubble-shaped greenhouse". I also have annoyingly pale and sun-intolerant Celtic skin which burns after ten minutes in the Australian sun and peels without tanning.**

It had been a busy three days visiting Kernow Bichan – or, as she seemed to be better known, the Copper Coast – and being enthusiastically shown around more museums than Cornwall thought possibly even _he_ had. There had been mine tours, old cottages, schools, and more mines. And interspersed with it all, more pasties and Swanky beer than he'd ever consumed in a long weekend before.

Swanky beer was something Cornwall hadn't realised he missed. Few of his people still brewed their own beer anymore, and those that did tended not to brew it out of any ingredient that crossed their thresholds. There was something about the peculiar taste of barkey, hops, yeast, sugar, ginger, and raisins that somehow fit the picture of a tubby miner with a pipe which decorated the brown bottles.

Nevertheless, this had been more excitement than Cornwall, these days a sleepy little county given to farming and the odd bubble-shaped greenhouse, had experienced in decades. He was just about ready to go back to the school, debrief with Devon, and fall asleep.

"Daddy!"

Map Kernow had found him, and he clambered into the tray of the ute to pull the tarpaulin off the older county. Cornwall held in a groan at being discovered.

"We're going now, daddy!"

"Oh, good," Cornwall sighed, climbing over the edge of the tray and headed for the cabin.

Map Kernow grabbed his arm. "We're going to visit _my_ country now, daddy."

" _Your_ country?" Cornwall asked. "Isn't this your country?"

"No, this is Copper Coast!" Map Kernow exclaimed. "You haven't seen any _proper_ mines yet."

Map Kernow really did have an obsession with tunnel mining.

"Cornwall, there you are!" Adelaide beelined towards them, Kernow Bichan trailing along behind her. "Look at you! Didn't you put sun-screen on all weekend?"

"Put what on?" Cornwall blinked.

"Sun-screen," Adelaide repeated, touching his face. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Now that she mentioned it, his skin _did_ feel weird.

"You're drying up," Adelaide sighed. "Bloody pale-skinned Europeans... At least _I_ know to put sun-screen on!"

Two small faces nodded their agreement. Map Kernow and Kernow Bichan were just as pale-skinned as their father usually was, but seemed to weather the sun a lot better than he did. Adelaide, too, was a fair-skinned European, although she at least sported a healthy tan.

"Have a drink," Adelaide advised, "And we'll find some aloe vera to rub on that before your land falls into draught."


	8. Down Under with Map Kernow

**I don't own Hetalia, Cornwall, Adelaide, Copper Coast, or Mid-North... except for a pass to all of Burra's tourist sites and possibly the picture of my grandfather in the Anglican church there. And the movie "Breaker Morant" on VCR (if that makes no sense to you, read the endnotes).**

It was two hours of driving to reach Map Kernow's land (or, at least, the part of it he wanted to show his Cornwall), and a rather uncomfortable two hours for the English county in question. His skin was beginning to crack, and he was _sure_ his land was probably in drought now, even if Kernow Bichan had rubbed a whole forest of cacti onto his flesh.

But countries healed quickly, and the angry red flesh had begun to fade and peel by the time they reached the first stop of their journey.

Cornwall knew it was the first stop of their journey, because the first thing he saw was, just as Map Kernow had been bragging since they met, a seven-metre-tall statue of Map Kernow himself.

"It's me!" Map Kernow beamed, leaping out of the car to climb up on the plinth.

"It's him," Adelaide sighed in agreement, pointing at the sign, which read 'Map the Miner' and 'Map Kernow Statue', followed by various facts about the construction of it.

"It's not the first one," Map Kernow announced. "There was another one, but that one burnt down. It was made out of fibreglass. This one is bronze, which is much more appropriate, don't you think?"

Kernow Bichan nodded, apparently thinking so. If there was one thing Cornwall had learnt over the past few days, it was that copper – a major component of bronze – was very important to the pair of them.

"This is Kapunda," Map Kernow told his father presently, waving towards the town in general. "It's most famous for the statue of me and the Celtic Music Festival. Also there was a copper mine for thirty-four years."

"Can't we please go to Burra now?" Kernow Bichan wanted to know. "It has the pretty little cottages; and besides, that statue of you creeps me out."

"Where's Burra?" Cornwall asked.

"Not far," Adelaide threw over her shoulder, heading back to the ute.

'Not far' turned out to be more than an hour, plus a stop in the middle of nowhere by a run-down stone cottage surrounded by cacti which Map Kernow declared to be, "Totally part of South Africa".

"Don't forget you were Turkey earlier this year," Kernow Bichan reminded him. "You spend so much time masquerading as other countries, you're barely Australian at all!"

"Shut up!" Map Kernow muttered, taking the wheel to drive them into the town.

The next stop seemed to be a river bank, right up until the two children led Cornwall down some stairs set in the bank and into a hole in the side. It turned out to be a whole row of dugout houses.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Cornwall wanted to know. "What if there were water in the river?"

"Well, then the houses would flood," Map Kernow shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "No-one lives here anymore."

"Yeah, you built those cottages," Kernow Bichan agreed. "There used to be _thousands_ of people living here in the river, daddy. At least all _my_ people lived in board houses."

"Burra used to be one of the biggest towns in Australia," Map Kernow announced. "It's not _my_ fault so many people left dad's land all at once to come here."

"Can't we please visit those cottages now?" Kernow Bichan whined.

"Okay!" Adelaide agreed. "Let's go and visit the cottages!"

They didn't go straight to the cottages, whatever they were. Instead, they stopped outside a large, imposing-looking compound with a few kangaroos beneath a tree outside and a somewhat ramshackle shed claiming to be a public toilet.

"Welcome to South Africa!" Map Kernow beamed.

"It's not South Africa," Adelaide told him. "South _Australia_."

"You know how often Jack pretends to be other countries?" Kernow Bichan added, making a face as she spoke to her father. "I think he has mental issues."

"This is Redruth Gaol," Adelaide gestured to the sign by the door. "Sometimes girl's boarding school."

"Redruth?" Cornwall asked in surprise.

"I've got a town called Truro, as well," Map Kernow beamed.

"Why aren't we at the cottages yet?" Kernow Bichan asked.

There was an entire square of conjoined white cottages, Cornwall discovered when they finally arrived. There was a sign attached to one of them, which said 'Melowen Lowarth' and 'Paxton Square Cottages Accommodation Office'.

"It's tourist accommodation now," Map Kernow explained. "There used to be thousands of people here, dad. Hundreds of thousands, as far as the eye could see. Now it's all quiet."

"I miss having people," Kernow Bichan sighed. "The only time it doesn't feel lonely these days is at Kernewek Lowender."

"Come on," Map Kernow wrapped an arm around her. "I know what will cheer us up!"

"What?" Kernow Bichan asked suspiciously.

"Let's go down the mines!"

 **Burra was used as the filming location for the movie 'Breaker Morant', which was set in South Africa during the Boer War, as well as for parts of 'The Water Diviner'. The train in 'The Water Diviner' was the Pichi Richi Railway, which can be found in Quorn, just to the north-west of Burra.**

 **The "Cactus Cottage" is the Burra Homestead, just outside Burra. Other locations in this chapter include the Burra Miners Dugouts, the Paxton Square Cottages, the Bon Accord Mine Site, and the Redruth Gaol. You can probably tell I know a** _ **lot**_ **more about Burra than I do about Kapunda. Or even Moonta.**

 **Redruth and Truro are both towns in Cornwall as well as South Australia. Redruth is a suburb of Burra, while Truro can be found further south, near Nuriootpa.**


	9. In Trouble With Mother England

**I don't own Hetalia. I have passports declaring me to be both "Australian" and "British Citizen", so I'm going to lay claim to part of Australia and part of England – countries which, of course, include Adelaide, Cornwall, Devon, Copper Coast, Mid-North, and even Melbourne. Italy I have no claim whatsoever to. Particularly not the Hetalia character.**

England was waiting for them when they got back, just inches from the nose of the 'plane when it came to rest, his arms crossed and heavy eyebrows imposing. He was at the door when it opened.

"And where do you think you have been, Cornwall?" he demanded.

"Um..." Cornwall stalled, looking to Adelaide for help. He could see Devon hovering behind England, along with a darker-haired nation with a band-aid on his nose which he recognised as Australia. "Where have I been... Uh...?"

"It was an important cultural event," Adelaide told them, her tone a study in innocence. "We're allowed to leave for important cultural events."

"An important cultural event?" England repeated. "May Day isn't for another fortnight, Cornwall!"

That was true, Cornwall had to admit. He made a mental note to take the children to Helston for the furry dance.

"It wasn't for May Day," Cornwall began. "It was for..."

"I can't believe you took your boyfriend to Adelaide Cup Day!" Australia cut in. "Horseracing is _not_ an acceptable reason to leave the school!"

"I bet you'd let Melbourne leave for _Melbourne_ Cup Day!" Adelaide exclaimed. "Besides, it wasn't the races. It was Kernewek Lowender! That _is_ a cultural event! And Cornwall isn't my boyfriend!"

"Please, like Italy's ever going to pay you any attention," Australia scoffed. "And don't bring Melbourne into this!"

"I _knew_ you liked him more," Australia muttered, crossing her arms. "And for your information, Italy _does_ notice me!"

"Can we not talk about this?" England demanded. "We're meant to be talking about truancy! Australia, your state has been leading my county astray! Devon's been worried sick! Grass has been withering on Dartmoor! Sheep are falling ill!"

"You're just being overdramatic," Australia replied. "A little bit of drought never hurt any sheep."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," England muttered, and then turned to Cornwall. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It was an important cultural event!" Cornwall repeated. "I _had_ to attend." He was gathering confidence he hadn't really had since that bid to compete separately at the Commonwealth Games in 2006. "I have colonies now. I'm going to spend time with them."

England's eyes bulged, which was quite an achievement with his eyebrows. "You have colonies?" he repeated, mildly incredulous.

"Mm-hmm," Cornwall nodded, tugging Kernow Bichan and Map Kernow forwards to stand beside him. "See?"

"I know you!" Australia exclaimed. "You're, ah, you're part of South Australia, aren't you? You're the one with that big festival, with the foreign name..."

"Kernewek Lowender?" Kernow Bichan asked innocently.

"That's it!" Australia agreed. "I know it was something Indian-sounding like that." Adelaide rolled her eyes. "Come on, mum," Australia told England, "He's just trying to be a good parent!"

England glared at his use of the word 'mum', but conceded the point. "Well, just this once, then. Any requests for cultural absence have to go through the proper channels in future, Cornwall! And Australia? Keep your states in line!"

 **Have I mentioned there's something of a rivalry between Adelaide and Melbourne?**

 **Anyway, Kernewek Lowender typically falls over the Adelaide Cup Long Weekend in late April. And about Italy – well, South Australians still have odd discount rights at Italian tourist sites.**

 **Cornwall** _ **did**_ **put forward an appeal to compete separately at the 2006 Commonwealth Games, but it was turned down because "Cornwall is just like any other county, no more and no less". In my opinion, those would have been the** _ **best**_ **Games to try it, since they were in Melbourne, and Australia is one of the only places that routinely thinks of Cornwall as being a nation in its own right (as much as Wales or Scotland is, anyway). Admittedly, though, we can't usually tell the difference between Cornwall itself and the Cornuvian Peninsula as a whole (which includes Devon, too).**


	10. Singing Lessons with Uncle Wales

**I don't own Cornwall, Wales, Mid-North, Copper Coast,** _ **Song of Australia**_ **,** _ **Bro Goth Agan Tasow**_ **(in any language), or Hetalia.**

Cornwall had discovered, quite by chance, that his newly-found children didn't actually know his national anthem. Given how Cornish they purported to be most of the time, this was obviously a grievous oversight, and he had appealed to Wales to help sort the matter out.

"So these are your children, are they, Cornwall?" Wales asked, looking at the two small personified regions currently sitting squished in a single armchair in his office. "And what are you called?"

"I'm Kernow Bichan," Kernow Bichan replied immediately. "He's Map Kernow."

"Kernow Bichan, is it?" Wales smiled, looking over at Cornwall. "Very imaginative of you."

"It wasn't my idea," Cornwall replied. "And that's rich, coming from someone who named his daughter 'colony'."

"It's pronounced 'Gladfa'," Wales told him. "Now, do you two know who I am?"

Kernow Bichan shook her head, but Map Kernow nodded slowly, and risked a glance over at his father. "It's Cymru, isn't it? I remember Cymru."

"You do?" Cornwall asked in surprise.

"Yeah!" Map Kernow nodded. "You came to visit once, remember, Uncle Cymru? Only once, not as much as Uncle Scotland, but you named all the streets in Llychwr."

"I can vaguely recall that," Wales nodded. "Now, your father tells me you don't know how to sing."

"We know how to sing!" Kernow Bichan protested. "We know lots of songs, don't we, Jack?"

"Lots," Map Kernow agreed.

"Well, what's the most patriotic song you know?" Wales enquired.

"Hmm..." Map Kernow considered for a moment, and Kernow Bichan leant over to whisper something in his ear. "I know that!" he scolded her.

Kernow Bichan shrugged, giggling, and settled back in the seat as the pair started singing. "There is a land where summer skies are gleaming with a thousand flies, blending in witching harmonies... in harmonies!"

Wales held up a hand, cutting off the fairly decent harmony they slipped into just there. "Well, they can sing, Cornwall," he told the smaller Celtic nation.

"Yes, but they can't sing the national anthem," Cornwall replied. "I think they should."

"Can you sing the national anthem?" Wales asked the two.

They both nodded, making faces. " _Song of Australia_ is better," Map Kernow announced. "I don't like this _Australians all, let us rejoice_ thing. The tune's not a great as _Song of Australia_."

"Do you know this one?" Wales asked. "Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi... Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri..."

The two regions shook their heads, although Kernow Bichan showed a glimpse of understanding. She tilted her head. "That doesn't sound right."

"She's right!" Cornwall exclaimed. "You're right, Bichan! The words aren't right. He's singing in Welsh."

"Well, he _is_ Wales," Map Kernow pointed out.

"Yes, yes," Cornwall nodded, "But I want you to sing in _Cornish_."

"Jack can't speak Cornish," Kernow Bichan announced.

"Can so!" Map Kernow exclaimed.

"Cannot!" Kernow Bichan shot back.

"Can so!"

"Cannot!"

"Colonies, colonies!" Cornwall held up his hands. "Stop shouting at each other."

"But he _can't_ , daddy," Kernow Bichan told him. "Jack speaks better _German_ than he does Kernewek."

"That's not true!" Map Kernow protested.

"Is so!" Kernow Bichan exclaimed.

"Well, maybe," Map Kernow allowed. "But that's not my fault! And it's not like _you_ speak brilliant Kernewek, either."

"Better than you!" Kernow Bichan nodded firmly. "I have _signage_."

"Well, then, you'll both be able to learn the words," Cornwall told them, cutting in. "Come on. Bro goth agan tasow, dha flehes a'th kar... Gwlas ker an howlsedhes, pan vro yw dha bar? War oll an norvys 'th on ni skollyn a-les, mes agan kerensa yw dhis."

Kernow Bichan giggled. "It's so weird that you're singing about yourself," she noted.

"Well, do you know the chorus?" Wales asked.

The two little regions nodded, and joined in with their father, belting out the first two words, each taking it to mean himself.

"Kernow! Kernow! Y keryn Kernow! An mor hedre vo yn fod dhis a-dro, 'th on onan hag oll rag Kernow!"

 **Llychwr is a suburb of Burra, originally settled by a Swansea-based mining company who named all the streets after towns in south-west Wales – Llwchwr is the name of the town in Wales after which the suburb is named.**

" **There is a land where summer skies" is** _ **The Song of Australia**_ **, which was South Australia's choice for a national anthem, having been written in 1859. Unfortunately, it was never sung much** _ **outside**_ **South Australia, so the final vote resulted in** _ **Advance Australia Fair**_ **. The second line is actually "dyes", not "flies", but singing "flies" is so much more amusing (and accurate).**

 _ **Bro Goth Agan Tasow**_ **is the official Cornish anthem according to Gorseth Kernow, although** _ **Trelawny**_ **is definitely more popular at sporting matches (rather like** _ **Waltzing Matilda**_ **). It has an identical tune and very similar words to the Welsh and Breton anthems,** _ **Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau**_ **and** _ **Bro Gozh Ma Zadoù**_ **respectively.**

 **The Mid-North has a fair amount of German heritage and settlement, too; but Copper Coast, like she says, has patchy signage in Cornish around some of the tourist sites.**


	11. The Celts Meet Again

**I don't own any of the Celtic languages, counties, or diaspora. Or Hetalia. I** _ **did**_ **do the Gaelic and Spanish language bits myself. Not the Welsh, though; you can blame Google Translate for that if it's wrong.**

"Hello and welcome to the Third Weekly Meeting of the Celtic Counties lunch-time elective. Cha bhi mi a' bruidhinn ann an Gàidhlig, cha bu toil leam a cuir a h-uile rud a-null do còig cànanan eile. Let's get straight into it!" Edinburgh beamed. "I don't think there are any apologies... Uh, please welcome Ireland to the meeting today. Now, onto the first item: recognising the colonies as Celtic nations."

"Colonies?" Ireland frowned.

"I turn the floor over to Alba Nuaidh to present her case," Edinburgh added.

A shy figure who shared her father's propensity for fading into the background stood to speak. "Well," she cleared her throat, "Bidh mise a' bruidhinn Gàidhlig gu dearbh, agus..."

Devon dropped his head to the table with a dull thud. "Wake me up when they start speaking something I understand," he told Cornwall.

"According to the Celtic Congress, the definition of a Celtic Nation is one which has retained a spoken Celtic language to the modern era," Alba Nuaidh began. "There are currently six recognised Celtic Nations, of which most of those here today are or are a part. These nations include Alba, Éire, Ellan Vannin, Cymru, Kernow, and Breizh, and it is this definition which precludes Galicia from official recognition as a Celtic Nation... despite her insistence on attending every meeting."

Galicia grinned at that, recognising her name, if not anything else from the meeting. She spoke Galego and Castilian, having long ago forgotten her Celtic tongue. She stood by the gaita, though.

"I put to the Meeting today that those of us who are colonies of those six Celtic Nations and who speak, or spoke at one point, a Celtic language, should be recognised as the equals of the Celtic Counties here represented. 'S e Ceilteach a th' annainn gu dearbh. We are Celtic. Signed, Alba Nuaidh, Gladfa, Dùn Èideann..."

"Edinburgh?" Ireland asked in surprise, turning to the chair. "You're not a colony."

"Not me," Edinburgh shook his head.

"That would be me," a figure at the end of the table, dressed in full Highland Dress, spoke up, lifting a hand. He had a Kiwi accent. "Dunedin."

"Well, I don't know why this has even come up," Powys announced. "I mean, if they speak a Celtic language, they're obviously Celtic, right?"

"Speaking as one of the National representatives," Cornwall put in, "I move to pass."

"I don't understand it," Ireland frowned. "I mean, I don't have any interest in this. I don't have any colonies."

"Hey!" Boston protested. "What about me?"

"Yeah, and Gabbie, too," Nova Scotia added.

"Who?" Ireland asked.

"Gabbie," Nova Scotia repeated, lifting a tiny little region, with the appearance of a human toddler, onto her hip. "You know – Permanent North America Gaeltacht."

"Gabbie?" Ireland mouthed the name.

"Gaeltachd Bhaile na hÉireann," Gabbie told him, before sticking her thumb in her mouth.

"Well, I do not have any colonies," Brittany announced, "Except, of course, for Kernow, but he is really my baby brother, no? But I think we should accept these colonies."

"Well, who else is there?" Ireland wanted to know. "Who has colonies? I mean, there's Boston and, uh... Baile na hÉireann," he glanced at the child as though she were an alien. Since when was he a father? "Who else?"

"'S e Alba Nuaidh agus Dùn Èideann a th' ann mo braithrean beag," Highlands spoke up. "We have Nova Scotia and Dunedin."

"That's it?" Ireland asked. "Well, that's great, and they sound like they speak Irish, but..."

"No," Cornwall stood up to make himself heard. "I've got Kernow Bichan and Map Kernow. And of course you know about Cymru's daughter, Gladfa," he added, realising that his two children couldn't really speak Cornish, which sort of undermined Nova Scotia's point.

"Do I?" Ireland blinked. "Where's Gladfa?"

"Fy mam yn yr Ariannin," Gladfa replied, before translating immediately to Spanish. "Mi madre es Argentina."

"Argentina?" Galicia, who had previously been quiet in a corner, looked up at that. "Hables español?"

"Si, hablo castellaño," Gladfa told her, pronouncing the language name to sound something like a sneeze.

Galicia opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Edinburgh. "'S e 'n Coinneamh Ceilteach a th' ann. Bruidhnibh cànan ceilteach!"

"Never mind that," Glasgow pushed his brother aside. "All in favour for accepting the colonies, say 'aye'!"

"That's not a Celtic language," Edinburgh frowned. "That's Scots."

"It's easier than trying to work it out in a Celtic language," Glasgow shrugged. "I'd have to work out the verb of 'should we accept the colonies', and then work out what the positive and negative replies are, and then there are six languages to deal with, all doing the same thing..."

Ellan Vannin rolled her eyes, and raised her hand. "I say 'aye'. Anyone else?"

 **Translations:**

 **Cha bhi mi a' bruidhinn ann an Gàidhlig, cha bu toil leam a cuir a h-uile rud a-null do còig cànanan eile – (ka vee mee uh bree-un oun un gaa-lick, ka boo toll lem a coor a hoola root a-nool do coh-ick caa-nunnun ella) – (Gaelic) I'm not going to speak in Gaelic, I don't want to translate everything into five other languages.**

 **Bidh mise a' bruidhinn Gàidhlig gu dearbh, agus – (pee misha uh bree-un Gàidhlig ga jerriv, ackuss) – (Gaelic)** _ **I'm**_ **going to speak Gaelic indeed, and...**

' **S e Alba Nuaidh agus Dùn Èideann a th' ann mo braithrean beag – (shey Allapa Noo-ee ackuss Doon Ey-jun uh h'oun muh bray-ren beck) – (Gaelic) Nova Scotia and Dunedin are my little siblings.**

 **Fy mam yn yr Ariannin / Mi madre es Argentina – (Welsh/Spanish) My mother is Argentina.**

 **Hables espa** **ñ** **ol? / Si, hablo castella** **ñ** **o – (Spanish) Do you speak Spanish? Yes, I speak Castilian.**

' **S e 'n Coinneamh Ceilteach a th' ann. Bruidhnibh cànan ceilteach! – (sheyn con-yev kel-chuck uh how'n. Brine-yev cah-nun kel-chuck!) – (Gaelic) This is the Celtic Meeting. Speak a Celtic language!**

 **Notes:**

 **Alba Nuaidh (allapa noo-ee) is Nova Scotia – the names are Gaelic and Latin respectively and both mean 'New Scotland'. Alba (allapa) is Scotland (in my head, though, Scotland and Alba are two different entities, one representing the Gaelic-speaking highlands and one representing the Scots-speaking lowlands), Éire (er-ye) or Éirinn (erin) is Ireland, Ellan Vannin (pronounced as written) is the Isle of Mann, Cymru (kumri) is Wales, Kernow is Cornwall, and Breizh (brayz) is Brittany.**

 **The gaita is the Spanish bagpipe – it usually has just one drone, like the Breton binioù, and unlike the three-droned Great Highland Bagpipe (pìobrochd). When I was in Spain, a managed to offend a number of people by suggesting that the bagpipe was a Scottish instrument.**

 **The Permanent North American Gaeltacht – or, as it's called in Irish, Gaeltacht Bhaile na hÉireann (Erinsville Gaeltacht) – is located in Ontario, and was established as the first official Gaeltacht outside of Ireland in 2007.**

 **I learnt Spanish in Salamanca, part of the Castille-Lyon region, and I'm aware that Galego, the language/dialect spoken in Galicia is more like Portuguese than anything else, but I'd assume the people to be reasonably bilingual. The Argentinian accent is pretty... ah, unique, too – you can always tell an Argentinian, they sound slightly Italian. "Castella** **ñ** **o" ("Castilian Spanish") is pronounced something like "catta-shun" in an Argentinian accent, I think.**

 **Gaelic has no word for 'yes' and 'no', and neither do Irish and Manx. I assume the same goes for the Brythonic languages. There is a word in Gaelic which roughly means "uh-huh" ("seadh"), but generally a yes/no response has to be something like "are you going to the shops" – "am going"/"am not going". For this reason, the Referendum organisers refused to offer bilingual voting ballots, even though the Referendum question was widely publicised on Gaelic-language media as "Am bu choir Alba a bhith na dùthaich neo-eisimealach? Bu choir / Cha bu choir".**


	12. Mab Kernow On Fire

**Bushfire season is here. Cornwall begins to learn that being a parent involves illness and natural disasters, as well as parties.**

 **I don't own Hetalia, Adelaide, Cornwall, the Mid North, the Yorke Peninsula, or any other land, for that matter.**

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Cornwall caught the tiny girl as she flung herself at him, blonde curls and flowers flying. "What's wrong, Bichan?" he asked. "Where's your brother?"

Kernow Bichan sniffled, looking worried. "He's burning up."

"He has a fever?" Cornwall asked, and then recalled some unusual weather he'd had earlier in the year. "A heat wave?"

"No," Kernow Bichan shook her head. "He's _burning_ , daddy."

"Where's your mother?" Cornwall asked. "Let me talk to her."

"She's with Jack," Kernow Bichan told him, her tone implying it was obvious. "Come on, daddy!"

Cornwall dropped her down to the ground, and she grabbed his hand and dragged him bodily across the campus to the dormitory shared by a whole group of small provinces beginning with M.

Mab Kernow was crouched in the middle of the room, his customary miner's hat missing. Cornwall couldn't see his hair, however, any more than he normally could, because it was on fire. Adelaide was holding his hands down so he wouldn't burn them.

"Coming through!"

A willowy personification dressed quite like Adelaide pushed her way past Kernow Bichan and Cornwall to dump a bucket of water over Mab Kernow.

"What is happening?" Cornwall wanted to know, crouching down beside Adelaide.

"Bushfire," Adelaide answered briefly, patting Mab Kernow's back as he hacked up dark grey smoke.

"That looks dangerous," Cornwall observed.

"It is," Adelaide agreed.

"He'll be fine," Kernow Bichan assured her father. "We always are. Eventually." She peered at her brother's face. "Did you get everyone evacuated, Jack?"

"No," he wheezed.

"He's got residents taking shelter," the hippy girl announced. "At least one's already dead from the fire-front. I've got units heading up to help out."

"What if something happens to you, Hillsie?" Kernow Bichan asked, blue eyes wide with concern, although all her fire-fighting forces were already helping out, since they were classified under the same Country Fire Service region.

"I'll manage," Adelaide Hills shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat from her head and licking her cracked lips. "We only deploy two-thirds of the unit out of region at once, you know."

Cornwall was lost. "What's happening?" he repeated.

"Bushfire," Adelaide repeated, replacing a wet flannel over Mab Kernow's neck.

Suddenly, the fire on his hair flared up once more, and then disappeared with another well-timed bucket of water.

Cornwall blinked. "What happened?" he changed his question.

"Lucerne field," Mab Kernow told him, speaking for the first time since Cornwall had entered the room.

"Lucerne field?" Cornwall echoed, not quite understanding.

"Lucerne is slow-burning," Hills explained. "Fire hits wheat or barely, you get out of there as fast as possible. Gets to a lucerne field, then you can fight it."

"Daddy!" Mab Kernow whispered, noticing his father now. He leant over and wrapping his arms around Cornwall's waist. The country tried not to flinch as he coughed up smoke and a clump of still-smouldering hair fell onto his shirt.

"This will be a long and messy recovery," Adelaide observed with a sigh.

 **The Pinery bushfire, just to the north of Adelaide, burnt from the 25** **th** **-27** **th** **of November, burnt more the eighty-five thousand hectares of land, killed two people, destroyed ninety-one houses, leaving sixty-thousand tonnes of debris and rubble, thousands of dead livestock, and twenty-five thousand people affected for the long-term.**

 **Remember:**

 **Be Prepared.**

 **Be Fire-Safe.**

 **Know your Survival Plan.**

 **Know your Safety Hub.**

 **Check your Current Incidences.**


	13. South Australia's Deadly Fever

**My sister said to me today, "If Adelaide were a person, she'd be dead by now." Yup, it's been between 37 and 42 degrees every day for the last two weeks. I had to write another chapter...**

 **I don't own Hetalia, Adelaide, Cornwall, or any other area you may or may not recognise. I don't own an air-conditioner. If I can't afford something more effective than a $10 bedside fan, what makes you think I can afford Hetalia?**

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Where's your mini-yous?" Dorset asked, as Cornwall and Devon arrived at their table without their usual shadows.

Cornwall frowned. "Um... good question." It occurred to him that he hadn't actually seen them for a few days. Quite a few days. "Have you seen them, Devon?"

"They're not my kids," Devon replied, taking a bite of his sausage sandwich. Ever since he'd realised it was named after him, he'd been obsessed with the pink, slightly jelly-like meat.

Cornwall sighed, and turned around. "I'll be back eventually."

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"New Zealand! New Zealand! Wait a moment!"

The somewhat androgynous-looking nation turned around, mouth forming an O in surprise at being spoken to, particularly by a personification she didn't recognise. "Yes?"

"Have you seen Adelaide?" Cornwall wanted to know.

New Zealand shook her head. "Ask Australia," she suggested. "Or Christchurch."

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Australia! I need to ask you something!"

Cornwall was a little nervous about that, given how his last interaction with Australia had gone, but he gasped in horror as the personification before him turned around.

Well, to start with, this personification was a female, although she looked startlingly like Australia – underneath the black eye, facial scratches, limp, and arm in a cast.

"Well, that's flattering," she told Devon in an unnaturally nasal voice, "I always knew I was important. I'm Sydney. Who are you?"

"Cornwall," Cornwall replied. "I'm looking for Adelaide. Have you seen her?"

"Do I look like I've had time to see her?" Sydney demanded, and then coughed uncomfortably. "Sorry. Asbestos. Ask Melbourne; they keep tabs on each other."

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Melbourne was recognisable enough that Cornwall was sure about it this time.

"Melbourne! Wait up!"

The usually impeccably-groomed city turned to him, quirking an eyebrow and then wincing at the pain it caused his red-burnt skin. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Adelaide," Cornwall explained.

"Well, when you find her, if that cool change has come through, tell her to send it on," Melbourne replied. "I need the rain. Better yet, you give me rain. You're English, aren't you?"

"Cornish," Cornwall corrected. "I'm Cornwall. It's sort of the point."

"Whatev," Melbourne shrugged. "You have any aloe?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Cornwall eventually tracked Adelaide to her dormitory accommodation. He wasn't sure, because the door was closed and no light or sound could be heard from within, but he knocked all the same.

He was answered with a faint moan.

Fearing the worst, Cornwall pushed the door open. "Adelaide?" He edged inside, feeling a blast of hot, stuffy air hit him as he stepped over the threshold. "Have you seen the children?"

"Here, daddy."

Kernow Bichan's voice lacked its usual energy as she lifted a weak hand. Cornwall caught the flash of pale skin on the floor of the darkened room.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking in the more than half a dozen bodies sprawled on the floor, limbs flopping loosely, a circle of pedestal fans pointed at them. "Are you sick?"

"Fever," Adelaide pushed herself upright against the bed.

"Heat wave," Mab Kernow agreed.

"Summer," Adelaide corrected.

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

 **Devon luncheon is called "fritz" in South Australia. I don't know whether it's eaten in Devon.**

 **Christchurch and Adelaide are twinned. They were both designed by Colonel Light, and basically, if you know your way around the square mile of one, you know your way around the square mile of the other.**

 **Sydney had two tornadoes on Thursday, apparently the strongest winds recorded in Australia, resulting in some serious damage. But, you know, rain, too.**

 **Melbourne currently has bushfires burning in the northern suburbs.**

 **Not much of the kids in this chapter, but I'm leaving it there. If the weather ever changes, I might conclude it.**


End file.
